


Synecdoche

by Terminallydepraved



Series: Dakeverse [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood Drinking, Dirty Talk, Knifeplay, Letifer-verse, M/M, Mild Gore, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Vampire Sex, Verbal Descriptions of Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 08:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: Someone was staring at Nines. The only thing was... he was staring back.(Letifer-verse smutshot, check out the main fic for context)





	Synecdoche

**Author's Note:**

> god its finally here! this behemoth. jesus, well, here is the Ryker fic for all you Ryker fuckers out there. Enjoy!
> 
> (Like I said in the summary, this is a side piece to Letifer, my vampire Reed900 fic and involves an OC with Nines set before the events of the fic. I'd highly suggest checking out Letifer first to properly understand the clan dynamics, Nines's backstory, and the significance behind Ryker's interest in Nines as well as his backstory which gets outlined in this fic. It probably won't make a lick of sense without context.)

There were eyes on him. 

Nines wrinkled his nose and crossed his arms a little tighter to his chest, striving to ignore it and focus. There was a woman up front speaking, someone important whose name Nines had already forgotten. She spoke with her hands, with her entire body, eyes wide and alight with energy he couldn’t imagine emulating. She had passion, that was clear. About what… 

Well, Nines didn’t really care enough to pay attention. 

He wasn’t even sure why he was at this meeting. He wasn’t that high ranking, and he hadn’t thought his presence would mean much in the grand scheme of things. Before it might have, if things had gone a little differently, but now? 

Nines pulled a face, one he tried to hide as soon as he felt the scowl settle on his lips. Now he didn’t think it mattered much at all. If  _ he  _ mattered at all.

He clutched tightly at the sleeve of his sweater, holding the fabric tight to keep himself from going down that train of thought. Nines inhaled slowly through his nose, letting it out with as much of his tension as he could manage. It would do him no good to think on things like that. Ruminating wouldn’t change a damn thing, and he had an image to preserve while standing in front of people like this. That was more important than his feelings. Image meant everything nowadays, especially for those who could use every ounce of control they could get, however it was they got it. 

“And that,” the woman up front concluded, throwing her hands into the air with mad gravitas, “is what I propose we do. Seek me out if you feel the same. That is all.”

Seek her out for what? Another dull meeting of inconsequentialisms Nines couldn’t bring himself to care about? He rolled his eyes as the woman stepped down from her soapbox and immediately began wandering between those gathered to speak to them one on one. Nines, in his far corner, was far removed from the gathering as he could be while still remaining in the same room. He did his best to avoid her attention.

But still, as hard as he tried to disappear, he could still feel someone watching him. 

He knew who it was. Roughly twenty feet from him stood a small group of Triarii— if anything about the Triarii could ever be described as  _ small.  _ They were all massive specimens, standing a head and a half taller than anyone else in attendance, and though there were only four of them, they somehow managed to take up the majority of the space in the room. Nines had watched them come in, then off and on throughout the meeting. They were interesting to look at. Different.

Well, he amended to himself, chancing a glance their direction. One of them was. 

The leader of the pack had caught Nines’s attention from the moment he entered the room. How could he not? If the others were large, he was positively hulking, closer to seven feet than six and with shoulders broad enough to block the entire doorway when he sauntered his way inside. Nines had never seen a man so big before. Ruddy haired, bearded, his laugh cut through the din of the room like a knife through butter. There was a mean edge to his voice when it filtered over to him. Like he wasn’t the sort of man you should involve yourself with. Like he was… dangerous. 

Most vampires were like that, Nines reminded himself. Dangerous, deceitful, and absolutely willing to use whatever or whoever they had on hand to achieve their own ends. He didn’t know who he was, and Nines knew he shouldn’t let himself be curious. Scrutiny invited attention. It invited disaster, and God knew Nines had already had his fill of that long before now.

Still. Even a name was beyond him. A man that big, a voice that commanding, he had to be someone important, right? Someone high up on the food chain. Nines sucked on his diminutive fangs, unsure of why he kept looking over at him as if the answer might be hidden in the pattern of his flannel shirt if he only looked hard enough. He lifted his eyes from the broad expanse of the man’s chest, then— Oh, fuck. 

Nines quickly turned away. He’d been spotted. Damnit. 

There went all his hard work at keeping a low profile. He’d been avoiding eye contact with everyone since he arrived, brushing off attempts at conversation with a coldness that told people well enough that he hadn’t come here to socialize or make friends. Nines’s ears pricked when the conversation in the room shifted, quieting before growing loud once more. He held his breath, senses on high alert, and felt more than heard the heavy, lumbering footsteps as they approached him. Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

There was a shadow over his shoulder. Nines pretended not to notice, and managed to for about a minute before the overwhelming presence forced him to acknowledge it. He twisted his neck and glanced up— and up, and up, and  _ up  _ until he met a pair of hazel eyes. Nines swallowed hard. He hated how high he had to tip his head, how his throat felt so bared and exposed craned up like this. He looked down and away. The Triarii was grinning at him, like he knew something Nines didn’t. 

“Well, well, well,” that rough voice rumbled behind him, close enough to chase a shiver down his spine. “Who do we have here?”

Nines did everything he could to keep himself from outwardly reacting. There were more eyes on him now than there had been at any other point in the evening, and he knew it was because they were waiting to see his reaction. It was common knowledge at this point not to  _ try  _ with him. To try chatting him up or making his acquaintance, to try  _ using  _ him the way everyone used everyone else at these events. Nines had carefully crafted himself a reputation of disdain towards anyone and everyone— and yet here was this man, this Triarii giant, pressing his luck anyway. 

Pressing his— Oh, God. Nines stifled a huff when a large, heavy hand settled on his hip with all the confidence of someone who knew he could get away with it. The pressure increased. Nines flinched when the scratchy kiss of a beard teased his ear. “You’re that jilted little would-be Luminary, aren’t you?” the Triarii growled. “The one everyone’s been talking about.”

At that, Nines grabbed the man by the wrist and peeled his hand off his hip. He whipped around and grimaced when he realized he’d put himself in a corner over the course of the evening, hiding in the shadows to keep from attracting attention. It left him pinned down, back to the firm wall, the rest of the party more or less blocked from sight behind the hulking figure in front of him. 

“I’m no one,” Nines said, glaring up at that grinning face. The man was handsome; somehow that made it all so much worse. 

The man raised a single brow and stared down at him with a smile, entertained and cautious all at once. He crossed his arms over his barrel of a chest, and it was then that Nines noticed that his flannel shirt was unbuttoned— only two buttons, but they made all the difference. A thick shock of ruddy-dark chest hair peeked out from beneath the fabric. “Is that so,” he said, chuckling when Nines had to tear his eyes from his chest to pay attention. “Seems an awful shame. 

Nines narrowed his eyes. The man took a step closer. A wallet chain hanging from his hip rattled with the movement. He was rather underdressed compared to most people here. His jeans were battered and gray, frayed at cuffs covering scuffed up work boots. Nines, for as much as he disliked being out and about around other vampires, had at least dressed the part. He felt positively fancy compared to this guy, and all he had going for him was his cashmere turtleneck and tailored black slacks. 

_ You’re in control here,  _ he told himself, pretending he was unbothered by the proximity. “It’s a matter of perspective,” he said dismissively. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone.”

“Oh, really?” A thick forearm settled on the wall above Nines’s head. He felt his eyes widen; the man’s bicep looked thicker than his thigh. The man lowered his head until he had Nines well and truly pinned in place. His voice was like sandpaper when he murmured, “Seems to me I’ve a right to know why you were staring at me. It’s not exactly the polite thing to do, you know.” He winked. “Especially when we haven’t even made one another’s acquaintances.” 

“I wasn’t—”

“Now, now, lying isn’t a good way to make friends,” the man interjected, cocking his head to the side. “The name’s Ryker. What’s your name?”

Nines frowned. “Shouldn’t you already know?” he muttered, crossing his arms tight. It really took a special sort of person to make him of all people feel small, but damn if this guy, Ryker, wasn’t accomplishing that in spades. “You were staring at me too.”

Ryker shrugged like it didn’t bother him that he’d been caught and grinned like Nines was funny for even bringing it up. “You’re an Arkay, right? I think I might know you by a name you don’t use anymore.” He let his hand fall away from the wall. He didn’t pull away, didn’t stop looming, but Nines felt himself ease up slightly anyway now that he wasn’t so outwardly pinned. This guy… He was pretty well connected to know something like that. Not his family name— No, everyone knew who the Arkay’s were these days, but Nines’s real name. The name he didn’t use anymore. 

He swallowed and shrugged a shoulder. The fact that he asked was something different too. Polite. 

“Just call me Nines,” he said, glancing up at Ryker to see how the man took it. It wasn’t as bad a name as some vampires had, but more than one had made fun of him anyway for it. His eyes widened a little when Ryker didn’t visibly react at all. He just bobbed his head, nodding like it made sense.

“Pleasure to know you, Nines,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the crowd still watching with rapt attention. “You’ve got quite the reputation. Cold as ice to anyone who tries to chat you up.” He turned back around, smiling a wide smile. “What sort of reason would someone like you have to stare at someone like me?”

Nines was thankful he’d gone without feeding tonight. It kept him from blushing. “I told you already, I wasn’t staring at you.” 

Ryker just nodded. “Uh huh. Sure.”

Before Nines could snap at him to shut up and go away already, Ryker moved. He  _ moved,  _ faster than a snake, too quick to avoid— he stepped forward, chest pressed roughly against Nines’s front, and wrapped a hand around Nines’s neck to pin him firmly to the wall. Nines grabbed at Ryker’s hand, nails scrambling against his iron skin. Ryker laughed as the room went silent, and Nines’s toes all but left the floor.

“You shouldn’t lie to your elders, little prince,” Ryker delivered, crooning the words against Nines’s ear. It sent flickers of heat and fear down his spine; Nines bit down brutally on his tongue to stop himself from whining. Ryker lifted him higher. He laughed low and mean in Nines’s ear. “Especially when you’re at the bottom of the food chain.” 

In a blink, it was over. The hand around his throat dropped him, and Ryker’s enormous body retreated a few steps until they were a socially acceptable distance apart. Nines braced himself against the wall, his knees threatening to give out. He touched his throat gingerly. For some reason he expected to feel bruises when he knew all too well that none would form. 

“I like people like you,” Ryker said, dragging Nines’s attention back to him and nothing else. The man didn’t even look winded after that display. Not even a hair out of place while Nines felt shaken to the core. “Cocky, cold. Like the world owes you something and you’ve come to collect.” His hungry eyes scanned Nines up and down. Nines swallowed harshly when he realized there was more to those eyes than just consideration. “It’s cute. Makes me wanna put you in your place.”

_ You look like you  _ want  _ to be put in your place,  _ Ryker said but didn’t say. It was clear though. Clear as crystal in the heat of his looks and the angle of his grin. 

Nines... couldn’t reply. He had no words to give, his tongue too clumsy to form them and his body thrumming with an energy that felt foreign after going so long with just himself to rely on. Ryker reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He glanced at Nines as he opened it, then grinned his sharp smile as he removed a thin black card. He presented it between two thick fingers. Nines took it and applauded himself for not shaking. 

It was a business card with raised silver letters on the front.  _ Ryker Fournier.  _ Beneath it lay a phone number. Beneath that, an address. 

“Come find me sometime,” Ryker murmured before pulling away completely. “I think I can do more for you than you think.”

The card cut into his palm as he closed his hand around it. Nines said nothing, and Ryker gave him a jaunty wave. Just two fingers next to his temple, something that Nines might have made fun of if it came from anyone else. He watched Ryker disappear into the crowd— except he couldn’t disappear. 

The man was just too big. 

—

A week passed and Nines still had the card. 

He wanted to throw it away. Hell, he’d wanted to rip it into two in front of Ryker’s face and all the other vampires at that meeting, just to hammer home that he wasn’t someone willing to play along with their games and tricks and political puppeteering. Nines had taken a step away from the wall, ready to do it, to tear it to pieces and stomp on what remained…

But then Ryker had looked at him. Just a glance. Just a split second look away from the woman from the podium, and he  _ winked.  _ He winked, and Nines’s resolve crumpled just like that. The card went into his pocket. He’d practically sprinted out the door, desperate to get away. 

_ You can throw it away later,  _ he’d told himself as he ran from the dozens of eyes locked on his retreating back.  _ Then you’ll never have to think about it again. _

Ha. He’d never been very good at lying to himself, not in life and certainly not in death now. The card went into his pocket, forgotten until he shoved his hands inside and felt the stiff edge dent his fingers. He would pull it out and turn it in his hands, taking in the matte finish, the embossed letters, the money that went into its creation. He googled the name on his phone; he learned nothing. 

He didn’t throw away the card. 

It took three days to talk himself into walking by the building. It took another after that to convince himself to walk up to the front desk and ask which floor a Mister Fournier lived on. The tired, overworked woman behind the counter had looked oddly at him when she said the penthouse, as if she thought he was foolish for not knowing. Nines had thanked her and left, head buzzing with more questions than he knew what to do with. 

On the seventh day, he came back. He stood outside and just stared up at the building, imagining he could see the windows that made up Ryker’s floor—his  _ floor.  _ Just what sort of role did Ryker play in the scope of things? Nines, for all his value as Internal Affairs, barely had a single studio apartment to his name. The Triarii weren’t that high ranking, perhaps mid-tier if a little higher. This… place. It took connections to be this well off. It took power. It took skill. 

The thoughts churned in his head like messy hornets searching for an exit. The highrise loomed over him in a way that felt far too familiar. It wouldn’t answer his questions; it just invited him in.  

Nines swallowed and ran the pad of his thumb over the raised letters on the card one more time, feeling the texture of an address he’d long since memorized. Nines glanced around and shoved the worn card back into his pocket, wondering when he began to feel so uncomfortable around wealth. He’d grown up in the lap of luxury, but nowadays it felt… unfamiliar. Wrong. Like he was one wrong move away from being asked to leave like garbage that had rolled in on the wind. 

But he knew he wouldn’t be here. Ryker had invited him. The only place he’d been asked to go was up. 

He didn’t bother stopping by the front desk this time. He just held his head high and moved towards the elevator, acting like he knew where he was going and what he was doing when he knew only the barest amount for either. He was going Up, he knew, and he pressed the button labeled  _ Penthouse.  _ What he was doing wasn’t so clearly labeled, wasn’t nearly so within reach. He’d figure it out when he got there, he decided. For now, he’d just enjoy the elevator music. 

When the doors finally opened, Nines was wound tighter than a spring, tapping his foot aggressively in time to the jazzy song raining down from above his head. The elevator dinged, and Nines exited before the sound had finished signalling his arrival. 

There was only one door this high up, and it was right in front of the elevator just to hit it home how expensive the penthouse was. You didn’t need to walk far if you were rich. Nines heard the elevator close behind him, rumbling to life to report down to whoever needed its services now. He was alone, as good as trapped. Only one place to go, so Nines moved towards the lone door. He clutched the business card in his pocket, holding tight to it through the fabric of his slacks. He rapped his knuckles on the door. He waited and refused to think of what would do if no one answered.

Silence. Then, a dull, rhythmic sound. Nines’s ears pricked at the footsteps. He stood up taller. He wondered if he’d made a mistake coming here without an excuse. 

There was no time to think on it; the door opened a crack and an eye peered down at him from on high. Nines swallowed, trying for a smile. The door opened wider. Ryker stood on the other side. 

“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice a saunter as it rolled over Nines in a wave. The man leaned in the door frame, casual and just as handsome as he’d been the night they met, if a bit less polished. He was wearing a t-shirt this time, and dark faded jeans that had seen better days. Nines felt conspicuously overdressed once more. “What good timing. I love a good surprise visit after a long night’s work.”

Long night’s… Ah. Realization doused Nines like a dose of cold water. It was clear now that he was looking that Ryker had only just gotten home. The man was rumpled and harried, his hands freshly washed and sporting the scent of plain soap around his person. Soap and… hmm, and a strange scent that was harder to identify. What was that? Nines tried to sniff discreetly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his mind coming up blank. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant smell. Somewhere between chemical and rancid, like rotten flesh doused in alcohol. “I probably should have called.”

Ryker was quick to wave him off. “Nah, nah, it’s perfect timing. Come on in,” he said, stepping out of the way to free up the doorway. He didn’t move much, though. Nines’s shoulder brushed his chest as he entered the penthouse. It was enough for him to smell beneath the stink a scent that he quickly recognized as Ryker’s cologne. Woodsy and dark, it tickled his nose (and everywhere else) in a much different way than before. 

Nines decided to hold his breath until he was a safe distance away from Ryker. He needed to keep his head for whatever came next, if anything came next at all.

The penthouse opened up from the doorway with aplomb. It was spacious, expansive, and a bit sparse when it came to decor. It was an odd cross between modern and rustic, the former coming from the original finishings and style of the architecture. It was clear to see that it had been meant for someone who appreciated the metallic finishings and strong, stainless steel lines. Instead, Ryker must have done what he could to make it his own with wood furniture and homespun rugs. Nines smothered a smile at the sight of a rack of antlers mounted above the enormous flat screen television recessed in one of the walls. 

He drew his hand along the back of an overstuffed sofa, staring out at the floor-to-ceiling window that made up the outer wall. He could see most of the city from up here. It glittered like stardust. 

It was just a passing thought, the barest of internal asides, but Nines had to wonder if this was what Connor got to see every night from his spot at Elijah Kamski’s side. If he was gifted these impressive views, these fancy trappings of an eternity catered to his happiness alone. Nines’s hand curled into a fist on top of the sofa. He frowned bitterly at the window, the view soured by the notion that he wouldn’t get to enjoy it for more than an evening at most. 

Eternity was a darker thing for him. Darker, drabber, and infinitely more pathetic by far.

“Is it safe to have a window this big?” he asked, stiffening a little when he heard the unmistakable sound of Ryker locking the front door. He told himself to breathe, to ignore it. It was normal to lock a door behind you… even if you did have the entire floor to yourself. 

Ryker moved towards him; his footsteps weren’t loud, but there really was no way to hide the movement of someone that big, especially to Nines’s enhanced senses. “Perfectly safe,” he said, his voice a rumble against Nines’s ear. “All the windows in here have automatic blackout blinds. The perks of being important.”

Nines licked his lips. That was another thing he was curious about. Ryker lived here, had all this influence. Who was he? What did he do? Triarii weren’t always this rewarded for their services. The stench of decay greeted him once more. Ryker was at his back now, looming. 

He turned his head a little, tilting it up to look at Ryker. “What is it that you do?” he asked, crossing his arms loosely. He felt so… small. He came up to Ryker’s shoulder, if that, and he was positive that if someone were to come in through the door and look at them, they’d only see Ryker. That was how big he was. That was how close they were standing. He cleared his throat a little at the thought. “Besides stare at me during meetings,” he added in some misguided attempt to take back a little of the ground rapidly disappearing beneath his feet. “A place like this can’t be standard issue for your clan.”

“You’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you? Still stuck on that.” His laugh was a rumble more felt than heard. “What do I do? Well. A little of this, a little of that.” Ryker’s hand settled on the dip of Nines’s waist. For a moment, that was all it did. It sat there, squeezing a little, feeling him, but then it tugged. Ryker took a step and Nines followed, drifting away from the window and towards a shadow-dipped hallway. “I’m surprised you’ve never heard of me. I thought you would be more in the know.”

“In the know about what?” Nines knew more than a general Enforcer might. His role was high up enough that he was granted information about current clan dynamics and the shifting power struggles as they were made known; they all influenced his work after all. But specific players? Individuals who didn’t directly serve the clan elders? He was just as clueless as the next, and he said as much as Ryker guided him down the hall and through a door and into what was  _ clearly  _ the man’s own bedroom. Shit. 

“Luminary business,” Ryker answered, standing a little closer now, his nose gliding over Nines’s temple. Was he… scenting him? They were in the bedroom now, another big room with a modern skeleton but rustic trappings. The bed was… enormous. It was all Nines could look at, even as Ryker went on. “I work with select Luminary families as a sort of catch-all. I’m whatever they need me to be given my skill set. Oh, where are my manners? Do you want a drink?”

“Yes,” Nines answered without really hearing the question. “Yes, please.” He took a step away from Ryker, holding himself tightly as he stared at the floor. Hardwood, maybe oak. A bearskin rug covered a large portion of it closer to the bed. Nines wasn’t that close to the bed yet. Neither was Ryker. Ryker’s footsteps clicked a little when he walked back out the door. Nines steadied himself. He looked around. He tried to keep breathing. 

Things were moving awfully fast. Nines clutched at his sleeves, staring at the massive wooden headboard on the bed. He probably had himself to blame for that. He’d shown up unannounced a week after getting Ryker’s card. There’d been no attempt on his part to tell Ryker he wanted… what, that he wanted information? A  _ friend?  _

His ears pricked. Footsteps. He lifted his head as Ryker came through the door carrying what looked to be a decanter in one hand and two fancy glasses in the other. Nines furrowed his brow at the sight. Ryker… He knew they couldn’t drink wine, didn’t he? He had to, right?

“Here we go,” Ryker said, walking past him to head towards the bed— no, not the bed. The bedside table. Nines tried not to let his relief show. Ryker set the glasses on the flat surface and unstoppered the decanter. Nines inched closer, his nose twitching as a new scent joined the rest permeating the room. Despite his trepidation to get closer, Nines did just that.

“Is that…?” he led, standing at Ryker’s side to watch him pour the thick, burgundy liquid into each glass. The scent hit him hard. His pupils dilated. “Oh, God. That’s really—”

“Blood,” Ryker finished for him, shooting him a cocky grin as he stoppered the bottle once more. “The good kind. Take a seat.” He handed him a glass, jerking his head towards the bed. “Let’s chat.”

When a heavy hand settled on his shoulder, Nines found he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He let Ryker guide him to the bed, the pressure increasing until he deigned to sit on the edge of the mattress. The glass was cold against his fingers. Nines lifted it higher. He shivered as the scent of blood filled his nose. He could tell without tasting it that this blood was different from the sort that showed up outside his haven every morning. It was  _ fresh  _ in a way that instinct adored, crisper and full-bodied like what he remembered a good wine smelled like. It almost smelled like it had been cut with alcohol. But… how was that possible?

“It’s from a drunk,” Ryker explained as if reading his thoughts. Nines looked at him curiously. “Something the Luminaries figured out. Spending eternity sober isn’t anyone’s cup of tea. They figured if you get a human good and drunk, the alcohol stays in the blood. Works if they’re high too.” 

“I… didn’t know that.” It made sense, he supposed. Lowbloods like him weren’t permitted to drink anything that didn’t come prepackaged in their coolers every morning. 

Ryker looked at him knowingly and sat down beside him, swirling his own glass as if the liquid inside were wine. “There’s all kinds of things you can do with blood. Things they don’t tell you during orientation.” He brought the glass to his lips. His throat was so strong as he drank, bobbing up and down, the tendons and muscles defined and… and...

Nines averted his eyes. He sipped the blood and tried not to shiver when a sudden heat blossomed in his cheeks, in his chest. He wondered what he tasted like now. If his blood would be potent and intoxicating too. 

“Good, isn’t it?”

Nines kept his eyes down. He nodded and said nothing; he couldn’t get his tongue to stop licking the back of his teeth, aching for another taste. Slow, though. He needed to take it slow. Blood addled. It weakened the senses normally, but to add alcohol on top of it... It was asking for disaster. He needed to… God, but it tasted so good. He drank another mouthful. He struggled not to give in. 

The bed dipped at his side. Ryker’s big, looming body brushed against Nines’s side. His arm wrapped around his waist like it was nothing. “It’s a lot better than that pisswater they feed you lowbloods, right?”

Nines shuddered, nodding his head. He raised the glass to his lips, his self-control shot. He couldn’t resist it anymore. He drank the glass in big, messy gulps, holding it in both hands, tipping it upside down to drain it of every drop it held. How could it be so good? So different? His vision was tinged red at the edges, and though he heard the laugh rattle his body, he didn’t let it deter him from shoving his fingers inside the glass to scrape the blood from the sides. 

“God, you’re cute.” Ryker grabbed him by the wrist before he could shove his fingers into his mouth and lick them clean. Nines looked up at the vampire and whimpered. Ryker just parted his lips and licked them himself instead. He sucked hard— Nines shuddered horribly, aroused and upset in equal measure. Ryker’s mouth was warm from the drink, sharp from his fangs. He was old, Nines had to remind himself. Old enough not to need a sire, to need anyone. 

He curled his fingers and tugged at Ryker’s hand, and after another harsh suck, Ryker released him. Nines struggled to breathe. The glass nearly slipped through his fingers, but Ryker caught it before it could fall, leaning down to rest it on the floor. Nines kept his eyes on the blood-stained glass. He wanted more. He just didn’t know how to ask. 

He lifted his head when Ryker swirled the blood in his own glass once more. Nines stared at it, licking his lips, sucking at his tongue for the last vestiges still in his mouth. A drop rolled down the outer edge of the glass. Before Nines could tell himself to stop, he was leaning forward, hand wrapped around Ryker’s thick wrist, his tongue to the glass to lick it clean. 

A hand settled on the back of Nines’s neck. He made a sound, something weak and pathetic, and Ryker laughed. “Thirsty, aren’t you?” he murmured. He tipped his glass forward, letting Nines sip some more. “You gonna tell me why you’re here now that I’ve got you all loosened up and tipsy?”

Tipsy? Nines closed his eyes, his hand clinging to Ryker’s wrist more than holding it in place. Yeah, he supposed he did feel tipsy. As close to tipsy as he could get these days. He rested his cheek against Ryker’s knuckles, the cold edge of the glass chilling his temple. “I don’t know why I came,” he mumbled. “I…”

“You?”

Nines swallowed, wishing he could down the entire bottle just to dull his embarrassment. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered. He closed his eyes tight. Maybe Ryker wouldn’t hear and he’d just let it go and they could— 

The hand pulled away. Nines tipped forward, but Ryker was right there with a hand on his neck to drag him back into place. Ryker looked at him with an unreadable edge to his expression. The corner of his lip rose in a smirk. He drained the rest of his glass dry, much to Nines’s disappointment. 

To make matters worse, he got up entirely, leaving Nines alone on the bed. 

“Couldn’t stop thinking about me, huh?” Ryker said, turning around with his massive arms crossed. The width of his biceps strained the sleeves of his shirt something awful. He leaned against the dresser set up on the adjacent wall and swirled the empty glass, watching the dregs paint the inside a deep, bloody red. He glanced up and looked at Nines. “Can’t say I’m surprised.” 

Nines had to clear his throat twice to find his voice. “You aren’t?”

“Nope.” His eyes lingered heavily, probably taking Nines in, assessing how he looked perched on the edge of his bed, flushed and listing a little to the side. “But don’t worry. I fully intend to capitalize on it. Only thing is, like I said before, you caught me at a weird time.” He shifted a little to set his glass on top of the dresser.

Nines swallowed. “Do you want me to leave?” God, why did he sound so pathetic? He wasn’t even sure  _ he  _ wanted to stay, even if his tone said otherwise. Nines looked at the ground, at the rug now under his feet. If he got kicked out now, it’d serve him right for making such a fool of himself.

A snort sounded above him. “Hell no. But I need a shower. Tonight was disgusting in the Cultist sense and I’ve got no intention of making the rest of the evening follow suit. You mind waiting while I do that?” 

Nines lifted his eyes at that. He looked hard at Ryker. “You don’t look dirty,” he observed. Vampires didn’t sweat, so the need to bathe wasn’t a prevalent one. Some did it for the feeling of normality, others for the warmth. Ryker had that odd smell to him, though. He’d mentioned the Cultists _.  _ If he had to deal with someone from that bloodline, maybe it made sense why he wanted to rinse off so badly. 

This time, Ryker laughed. Not a loud one, or a mean one. He just laughed, shaking his head as he pushed himself away from the dresser. “You’ve got no idea, babe,” he said, pausing in front of him to cup his chin in his hand. Nines leaned into the touch, head tilted up and lips parted. Ryker’s lips split to show his sharp fangs. “What do you say? Can you be patient for me while I wash off?”

Nines didn’t need to think to answer. “Yes,” he whispered, voice weak and will weaker. Ryker’s thumb stroked his bottom lip, tugging it down before retreating completely. Nines moved with him, chasing the hand, but then it was gone. Ryker rested his hands on his hips, looking down at him like he’d done something good. Nines averted his eyes. He’d never felt so effortlessly undone like this before. 

“Good,” Ryker told him. “I won’t take long.”

Without lifting his head, Nines watched Ryker disappear through the door at the far side of the bedroom. An ensuite, of course. In a place this fancy, it should only be expected. The door opened, the light went on, and then the door closed behind Ryker. There was no click of a lock. 

_ I wonder what he would do if I followed him,  _ Nines mused suddenly, giving into the impulse to kick off his shoes and socks and feel the rug beneath his feet. Probably praise him again. Maybe more— 

The sound of the shower turning on somehow managed to be louder than Nines’s racing thoughts. He inhaled deeply and winced when it failed to calm him down. His knee bounced anxiously, his fingers buried in the fancy bedspread beneath him. No one had breathed a word of sex being on the table with this visit, and yet somehow the direction of the evening was clear. 

_ You’re getting ahead of yourself,  _ Nines’s common sense cried, valiantly trying to be heard over the blood wine still dulling his common sense. He curled his toes into the coarse rug.  _ Maybe he just wants to use you like all the others.  _

Maybe he did. There was no use in hiding the fact that Ryker knew about him, knew who he was and who he was connected to. And yet, he hadn’t asked after Connor. He hadn’t asked if he was in contact with Kamski. All he’d done was invite Nines to contact him, to have a drink and wait for him to finish his shower. It could all be nothing. 

It could all be everything too. That felt more likely somehow. He wasn’t naive; he knew when he was being flirted with, seduced. They were going to… and he’d… Ryker had pulled his fingers inside his mouth. Clearly he wanted this. He wanted Nines. 

This was so stupid. He wasn’t a virgin. Nines let go of the bedding and pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes in an attempt to calm down before he did something stupid. It was just sex. Sex with a… confident, enormous vampire, but sex all the same. 

His eyes opened in a flash. He stood up, needing to move more than what his bouncing knee would allow. 

What was Ryker expecting? Did he want Nines to behave a certain way? He remembered that night at the meeting hall, how Ryker had grabbed him and just… He burned with the blood he’d just drank, knowing that even if Ryker simply wanted to dominate him completely, there would always be some sort of fallout from it. There had to be unspoken rules about sex between vampires. Power dynamics and favors owed— Nines knew all about that. He’d been offered similar things before, but this was the first time he’d ever felt like the reward would be worth the risk. 

Only, those sorts of offers were always clear. They would ask him flatout what they wanted, and what he would get in return. Ryker hadn’t done that. Nines stood by the window with its fancy automatic blinds, staring down at the glittering city below. Ryker had let him in, poured him a drink, then… Then gone into his bathroom to shower. That was it. Nines bit down hard on his bottom lip, urging the mounting panic to go away. 

Was he… Oh, God, what if he really was misinterpreting things? Blood had so many meanings for their kind. Ryker could have just been sharing some with him; it was still intimacy, still something clearly meant for closed doors. Offering a guest a drink was normal either way. What if it was just a drink? What if that really was all it was meant to be?

Nines grabbed at his hair and stared at the expensive trappings of the bedroom. The bed was massive, the bearskin rug on the floor somehow even bigger. Had Ryker killed it himself? Why was he only now realizing he knew nothing about this man beyond where he lived and what bloodline he belonged to? His human self would scream at him for being stupid enough to pull a stunt like this. This kind of behavior was how he got himself killed. 

God, that was a sobering fact to swallow. Nines ran his hand down his face, closing his eyes tight before opening them again. He pushed aside the blood’s warming, dizzying buzz to consider his options as coherently as he could manage. 

First to come to mind was that he could leave. Ryker would be occupied with his shower, and he probably wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough to stop him if he just threw on his shoes and left right now. He’d leave a note with an apology, an excuse, and he’d never have to see him again— unless he went to another meeting, Nines realized. They clearly operated in some of the same circles. Fuck. 

Option two: he could stay. He could sit on the bed or stand by the window and make it clear that this was only a social call. Nines’s stomach churned at the thought, his cheeks heating up and betraying him. It’d be hell having to sit there and ignore the elephant in the room. He wasn’t sure he had the self control for it. He wasn’t sure if anyone did.

That left option three, which was… probably the stupidest of the ones he had before him. He could stay… He could let the night go its natural direction, but he’d take every minute he had before Ryker got out of the shower to learn as much about him as he could. To assuage his fears of the man being some sort of serial killer or vampire-eater or… or whatever other kind of monster his overly paranoid imagination could conjure up. He was in the man’s room for God’s sake. If he was going to figure Ryker out, there was no better time or place to do it than here and now.

He was moving towards the closet before he really registered which option he was going to settle on. Though, he thought ruefully, it was pretty clear what he wanted out of this evening given how quickly he was moving. It was easier to blame his eagerness on the blood wine. Less embarrassing that way, and less indicative of how pent up he’d become during his post-vampiric dry spell. He resigned himself to his fate and opened the door to the closet. He reached for the lightswitch, burying himself in the personal effects of a well-connected Triarii.   

Ryker’s closet was a walk-in, because of course it was. The man didn’t own enough clothes to fill it though, so the majority of its cavernous space was assigned to housing boxes and safes. The safes were for guns, he knew. They were tall and thin, and his father had owned a similar sort of gun safe back when he was still alive. Ryker’s was bigger, though, and had a digital lock on the front. Probably a hunter. Nines had gathered as much before. 

Brushing aside a few hanging flannel shirts, Nines peeked inside the boxes neatly stacked against the wall. Some held ammo, others casings and shells. He didn’t bother opening one of the heavier boxes. Just a sniff told him it was full of gunpowder. So, Ryker liked to make his own bullets? Not the most usual of hobbies, but it went hand in hand with hunting, he supposed. 

An assortment of hiking boots filled a hip-tall cubby against one of the other walls. A single suit hung inside a garment bag, black tie and neatly pressed. Nines pulled down one of the flannel shirts and pressed his nose to it, his senses easing at the scent of musk still lingering around the collar. Ryker was an outdoorsman, he could assume, with hobbies that facilitated that. He preferred comfort over elaborate fashion, but he still had a suit for the occasions where he had to look fancier than he preferred to be. 

Nines breathed in more of his scent. He didn’t feel better, per se. Calmer, but still worried. 

It was a start, but that was just it: it was a  _ start.  _ He didn’t have time to go through every inch of the penthouse just to learn what he could about the man showering just a room away. Rooting around in his clothes and belongings wouldn’t tell him the things he really wanted to know. Did Ryker want him? Probably. Was Nines alright with taking the chance that he wasn’t? Not even a little bit. 

Nines slowly retreated from the closet, closing the door behind him. He let his back rest against it for a moment. He inhaled— and smelled Ryker. Oh. He still had the shirt. Nines closed his eyes, more than a little embarrassed, and toyed with the idea of what he could do to make sure Ryker knew what he wanted. Asking for it was… not something he felt like he could do. Words weren’t his strong suit. Actions spoke louder, were easier. He tightened his grip on the flannel and tried not to flinch when he heard the shower turn off. 

It was now or never. 

Instead of thinking, Nines just moved. He crossed the room in a few strides and dropped the flannel shirt on the bed. His shirt fell to the floor somewhere behind him, and his pants followed a second later, shucked and forgotten. They were a mess on the floor but he didn’t bother to stop and fold them; he just moved faster when he sensed that Ryker was drying off. He didn’t spare even a moment to think when he stripped off his boxer briefs and crawled onto the bed before the garment had a chance to hit the floor. 

The bathroom door was just opening when he finished fastening up a handful of buttons on the flannel shirt. The thing was massive, dwarfing, falling down to mid-thigh in a way Nines had never experienced before. When it came to the clothing of others, it was almost always too small for him. He was big, tall, broad. He’d never met a man like Ryker before who managed to be  _ more.  _

The door opened fully. Nines laid himself out on the bed in a casual but hopefully enticing sprawl, shifting his legs into a demure fold just as Ryker came into view. The man was flushed from his feeding and damp from the shower. Naked too, Nines noted with something that might have been glee or trepidation, except for the big, black towel wrapped around his hips. Nines traced the shape of Ryker’s happy trail with his eyes before following it upwards. A hairy, muscular chest, that ruddy beard, those narrowed eyes—

“Glad to see you made yourself at home,” Ryker announced as he took a step towards the bed. He wasn’t looking at Nines so much as his legs, his lips curled into a wide, hungry grin. “Red is definitely your color.”

Nines didn’t have a reply to that. He just averted his eyes and blushed—actually blushed, and wasn’t that a novel feeling these days? He drew himself up a little higher, putting all of his weight on his arm so he could tuck some of his hair behind his ear. Ryker moved closer, then closer still. It only took a quick glance to see just how much Ryker appreciated his little surprise. The bulge beneath his towel was impossible to ignore, especially at this close a range. 

The mattress dipped. A thick knee joined him on the bed. Nines found his head lifting as a hand took him by the chin, tipping it upwards. He looked at Ryker and struggled not to lean into his touch. 

Ryker cocked his head a little. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Nines swallowed. He shook his head. 

A smile. “And that whole Queen Bitch routine at the meeting? What was that all about?”

The hand curled lower, wrapping around his throat. God, Ryker’s hand was so big. It spanned the width easily, his nails scraping gently at his scalp. Nines parted his lips. He leaned into it hopelessly, the shoulder of the flannel slipping down his nape. “To make people leave me alone,” he whispered, beginning to shiver when Ryker lifted himself fully onto the bed. His other hand settled on his thigh, squeezing and stroking, slipping beneath the hem to delve higher. 

Ryker clicked his tongue. He shifted his hand around until it cradled Nines’s skull, lifting him higher so he could bring his lips to the crook of his neck. “But you don’t want to be left alone, do you?” he said, so big that even a whisper felt like a growl. He squeezed brutally at Nines’s thigh. “Nah, big bitch like you, you just want to be wrecked. Guess that’s why you came to me, huh? I put you in your place and you came out of that meeting desperate for more.” 

Maybe so. Maybe that was… God, maybe that was why he’d come here. Nines couldn’t deny it either way. It didn’t matter now. It was true enough to land him in this bed, pinned down by this man. Ryker’s big hands moved lower, higher, slipping beneath the shirt to rove along his body, squeezing here and there. One button popped, then the next. The shirt fell open and Nines closed his eyes as Ryker stared down at him, drinking in the sight of him naked and hard in his bed. Nines tightened his fingers in the bedding. Did Ryker like what he saw? Did he… Did he think he was cute like this too?

Nines keened softly as a hand settled over his chest, the pad of a thumb stroking over his nipple. He cracked open an eye, then promptly closed it again when he saw how dilated Ryker’s eyes had become. “Hiding from me, huh?” the man observed above him. He dragged the blunt nail of his finger along his nipple next, and Nines arched his spine wantonly, too sensitive for this little contact. “You shouldn’t. You should be flaunting all of this.” He cupped Nines’s tit and gave it a firm squeeze. “You could have the elders dancing in the palm of your hand if you showed them a pretty sight like this.”

He opened his eyes at that, just in time to see Ryker lick his lips as he stared at the flushed, puffy state he’d left his nipples in. Nines blushed with blood that wasn’t his, fidgeting beneath his gaze. He mumbled, “Wanna see you more,” and struggled not to hide his face when Ryker inevitably heard. 

There was silence for a beat, and then a laugh. “Whoever trained you knew how to live,” the Triarii murmured as he let the towel hit the ground in a damp heap. Ryker’s cock was fully hard, thick and long and bigger than anything Nines had ever taken— Hell, bigger than any he’d ever seen either. God, it had to be longer than his forearm. The flushed pink head peeked out from the pulled back foreskin, wet, shiny, and intent. It loomed near his face, inching closer, aimed towards his parting lips.

“There’s a good bitch,” Ryker crooned, grabbing a handful of Nines’s hair to guide him forward. He held himself by the base, pumping the length once, twice, covering the head and revealing it with every downward stroke until the tip glistened with a pearl of moisture. Nines stuck out his tongue. “There we go. Let’s put that pretty mouth to work.”

Nines was no stranger to sucking cock. He’d done it often enough as a human that he barely thought twice about putting his mouth somewhere, guarding his teeth with his lips and swirling his tongue— he was  _ good  _ at it. He’d been told he was good at it, and he’d always approached sex with the sort of confidence that came from being told he was good, desirable, wanted. But, that was as a human. Nines had only one experience prior to this with a vampire. 

Unfortunately for him, he knew that the kind of sex he’d had with his sire hadn’t been a good lesson in how to pleasure a vampire. It had involved him dying in the filthy, spent sheets, and even if he wanted that with Ryker—which he didn’t—he knew he couldn’t replicate it as he was now.

He closed his eyes tightly as Ryker fed him the head of his cock, hissing out above him in what could be pleasure or distaste. Nines couldn’t open his eyes to check. He couldn’t make himself, at least. He didn’t want Ryker to see how unsettled he felt, how unfamiliar this all was. Ryker’s cock wasn’t even  _ hot.  _ It was warm, sure, but nothing like a human’s might be. Like how it used to be. 

“There we go, that’s perfect,” Ryker said, groaning low and wild when Nines managed to drop his jaw and take him in a little deeper. There was no way he’d be able to take him all. Even if he didn’t need to breathe anymore, there were still limitations to how wide he could open his mouth, to how much he could fit in his throat without tearing something. “So good. Fuckin’ love you fledgling bitches.”

Nines cracked open his eyes at that. Ryker was flushed and hazy eyed, rocking his hips forward as he licked at his lips. God, at this angle his entire body was on display. Thick, corded muscle, bulky more than sculpted, and hair. So much hair. Along his chest, his arms, his thighs… A thick thatch gave rise to his cock, and when he bucked forward and shoved himself deeper into Nines’s mouth, the wiry curls tickled his nose. Nines listed to the side, weak at the sight, the feeling, the knowledge that this man, this complete beast of a man, was going to fuck him blind.

Ryker caught him staring. He smirked, sitting up a little straighter, showing off his chest, tensing his thighs. “Like the view?” he asked, laughing huskily when Nines gave out a choked, stifled groan. “Yeah, well, feeling’s mutual.” He let his eyes scan Nines’s body, his hand reaching out to smack Nines’s ass. He grabbed it tight next, squeezing it hard, pulling another sound from Nines’s chest in the process.  

He fucked Nines’s mouth for a few more minutes, in and out, cycling between deep and shallow—but never managing to go deeper than halfway; he was just too big for anymore—in bursts that Nines couldn’t hope to predict. He held his jaw slack and allowed Ryker to just use him. To just… direct him. 

Nines came to the realization that he’d been aching for that for awhile now. 

Time didn’t matter while Ryker was filling his mouth. It all blended together, hazy around the edges and soft like downy snow. When the hand tightened in his hair and pulled him away, Nines went without a fight. Saliva dripped down his chin. He looked up at Ryker, and he shivered.

Ryker’s eyes weren’t black anymore, but tinged red. Triarii were unique like that, he’d been told ages ago. Their clan was made to fight, to brawl, to embody pure power at the drop of a hat. When they felt the urge to be violent, their eyes filled with blood. They would rage. They would  _ destroy.  _

“Get up here,” Ryker ordered, his voice just a growl. He yanked on Nines’s hair and dragged him before he could comply, drawing him onto his knees, his head tilted back to present his neck in a defenseless arc. Ryker lowered himself to scent him, dragging his scruffy, prickly jaw along Nines’s jugular. Nines whined pitifully. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next. 

A warm tongue licked a firm line up his neck. Ryker paused at the raised scar of his siremark. “You gonna fight me if I do it?” he asked, his smile tangible against the sensitive flesh.

“No,” Nines breathed, shaking his head. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t stop shivering. He knew what was coming; he wanted it anyway.

A huff. “Good.”

Ryker moved too fast to follow, and he bit too deep to ignore. Nines’s body tensed and jolted, his lips falling open as long, wicked teeth entered his flesh. “Oh, God,” he wheezed, tears pricking his eyes. He hadn’t felt this in so long, hadn’t felt it since his sire—  _ “God,” _ he cried, grabbing for Ryker’s shoulders. He clawed and scrambled for his skin, wrapping himself around the man even as Ryker took them down onto the mattress. He couldn’t arch like this, couldn’t fight. He just had to take it as Ryker took back everything he’d just given him.

Being fed from was… singular. Uncomparable.  _ Good.  _ The warmth trickled down his limbs, digging deep to keep him pliant and willing. Nines’s hands lost the fight to hold onto Ryker; they fell down lifelessly, cold nipping at the heels of the pleasure as his blood was drained, drank, taken. He wouldn’t die from this, some small part of his brain told him. He couldn’t die from this, no matter how much Ryker took from him. 

His fingers were numb by the time Ryker drew his fangs from his neck. His vision was hazy, the vampire just a blur of ruddy intent swimming in front of his eyes. A big hand cupped his cheek, tilting his head forward. A kiss fell to his lips. Nines tasted himself in it, and he licked greedily at Ryker’s mouth, thirsty for the blood he’d only just given him. 

Nines moved his lips but couldn’t manage to summon his voice. 

Ryker leaned down. “What was that?” he asked, and God, his voice. His voice was so low, so husky and raw. 

Nines licked his lips. “Did I… taste… good?” he repeated. He fought to see through the haze. 

A hand cupped his cheek, and Nines realized Ryker was laughing when he felt a vibration roll through his chest like thunder. “Oh, you tasted like heaven,” the man told him, leaning down to lap at the wound he’d left in his throat. “So good. You’ve got that lowblood in you, but did you know you still taste high end? You’re a fuckin’ treat, babe.” He nipped harshly at Nines’s ear. “What I wouldn’t give to have been the one to have you before.”

Breath quickening, eyes smarting, Nines turned his face away and shivered as he clutched the sheets weakly in his white-knuckled hands. He’d lost a lot of blood, but his body still burned, still ached for more. The perks of being a vampire, he assumed. Of having sex with one too. Ryker kept nuzzling the mark he’d left, bemoaning that it would heal before long. He kept licking at it anyway, acting like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. If it was, Nines didn’t think he’d be able to handle it. 

All at once, he pulled away. “Wanna fuck you,” Ryker growled, looming over his prone body like a wolf going in for the kill. With Nines’s blood dripping from his maw, the comparison only became all the more apt. “Wanna fuck that tight fucking ass of yours. Sweet little prince, bet you want it too. Bet you want to be stuffed full like the hungry bitch you are.”

What use was there in denying it? He was right. Nines stared up at him, painfully aroused, ready to beg so long as it got him what he wanted. He bared his bleeding throat and nodded. “Please,” he whispered. “Do whatever you want.”

Ryker’s eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. “Anything?” he asked, tightening his grip on Nines’s hips. His lip quirked upwards into a smirk. “You’re that desperate?”

He bit down on his bottom lip. Saying yes felt like it might carry more weight than it probably should. Saying no was… unimaginable. 

Still…

Nines lifted his hands and looped them around Ryker’s broad shoulders. He parted his lips, closed them, then parted them again. Now probably wasn’t the time— No, it definitely wasn’t, but Nines couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t surrender without putting those fears to rest, once and for all. 

“I want it,” he said, struggling to meet Ryker’s eyes. God, he’d always hated eye contact, avoided it like the plague if he thought he could get away with it, but like this, there was no other way to hide. Ryker was too close, too big, blocking out the room and everything in it until all he could see was him. Nines licked at his lips, saw how Ryker was coming in for another kiss— “But,” he said, turning his cheek, letting it catch Ryker’s whiskery, rough kiss. “But I—”

“But you what?” Ryker asked, gripping him by the chin to force eye contact when he kept on trying to avoid it. His eyes were dark now, blown wide with the arousal Nines could feel painting a hot, burning line along his thigh. His voice was just a growl now, hungry and intent. Nines swallowed. He’d never felt so small before. 

With his chin caught and his head locked in place, Nines settled on closing his eyes. “I don’t know anything about you,” he said, his voice just a whisper, a squeak. Ryker’s thumb was inching higher, settling on his bottom lip to prod at the seam, seeking access. Nines whined softly, granting it. He sucked gently. He tried to pretend it didn’t soothe him.

“You wanna know about me? Is that it? You already sucked my cock, babe. You really need more to feel good about this?”

Nines nodded, letting his mouth fall open in accordance with Ryker’s thumb pressing down on his tongue insistently. There were too many people out there who wanted to use him for his connections. Trusting someone was nearly impossible, and though Ryker hadn’t tried anything yet, the risk was still there. “I need to know what kind of man you are,” he breathed, cracking open his eyes. Ryker wasn’t smiling much now. His brow was furrowed, his lips curled into a pensive frown. His cock was still hard though. Nines told himself to focus on that. It was probably a better gauge of Ryker’s mood than his expressions would ever be. 

Case in point: even as he watched Ryker think, the expression was shifting. The tension loosened. The hand on his chin let go. Ryker pulled away a few inches, reaching for something near his bedside table. His cock dragged heavily over his own. Nines closed his eyes and whined softly, an aching sort of pleasure sparking down his spine. He focused on the feeling, letting it fill him, wrap around him, drown him—

_ Snick.  _ Nines froze when something cold touched his skin. “Alright, I’ll fill you in,” Ryker said, tone conversational while the knife against Nines’s throat was anything but. “You know, so you have a good idea of who it is you’re begging to fuck you blind.”

Where had that come from? His body was stiff, his throat tilted up and on display as he instinctively moved away from the sharp metal teasing his adam’s apple. He clutched Ryker’s shoulders tightly. Nines licked at his lips. “Ryker—”

“Nuh uh, none of that.” Ryker brought the knife to Nines’s lips and tapped at them with the flat of the blade. “You wanted to know, little prince. Oh, you’re scared, aren’t you? Silly little prince. I’m not going to hurt you.” Nines looked pointedly at the knife. Ryker snorted. “I don’t need a knife to make you bleed.” He traced the shape of Nines’s lips, the tip of his blade catching on his cupid’s bow. “It’s just a visual aid, and even if it’s not, a little trust will go a long way. Understand?” 

No. No, Nines didn’t understand. He’d never done this before. He hadn’t ever thought about what it might feel like to do something like this, and now that it was happening, he had no idea how he was meant to feel, to think, to be. But Ryker was still hard. Nines was still hard too, somehow all the more on edge now that he had something sharp teasing his mouth like a biting kiss from a lover who didn’t always mean well. 

Ryker took his silence, his docility, as a yes. Nines could tell he did. He was grinning again, wide and mean. “I want your hands above your head,” he went on, gesturing upwards with his knife for added emphasis. “You won’t move them, will you? You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, right?”

“No,” Nines mouthed, shivering when the tip of the blade slid past his lips and pressed down on his tongue. The steel tasted cold, metallic, and if he concentrated, like stale blood steeped into the metal. He stayed still and let Ryker move his hands where he wanted them. He gripped the bedding. He didn’t move them. 

Ryker smiled. “There we go. Pretty as a picture.” He pressed down with his blade just to make Nines opened his mouth even wider, then let off. The blade tickled as it traced down his cheek, his chin, tapping out a faux heartbeat against his throat. Ryker’s cock was hot and heavy against his hip. Wet too. A trickle of saliva rolled down Nines’s chin. He didn’t dare move his hand to wipe it away. 

The knife lingered in the crook of his neck. Ryker glanced up, meeting his eyes. “Really, you’re too pretty. Luminary-stock always is,” he sighed, shaking his head a little. “They did you so dirty, little prince. Just a shame I didn’t run into you first.”

Nines sucked at his mouth, swallowing down the moisture that kept pooling on his tongue. “Why?” he whispered. He tried not to wilt when Ryker looked at him again. 

The sharp blade teased his cheek like a pat of a less than tender hand. “Why? Because I would’ve kept you for myself. Left you human for a bit, my own personal blood doll.” Ryker sighed fondly at the thought, flicking the knife around his fingers in a dexterous display of confidence. When the knife came to a standstill, it was extended handle first, hovering right in front of Nines’s eyes. “Do you know what this is?”

The handle? “It’s wood, isn’t it?” It was an off white color, but still smooth and carved. Ash maybe. Nines couldn’t pretend to know much about knives or guns or anything like that. So long as it was sharp or loaded, he knew enough to stay away. Present circumstances excluded, of course. The current situation was redefining a lot of things Nines had thought he knew better than to invite closer. 

Ryker laughed a little, shaking his head. “Nah, not wood.” He pressed the grip to Nines’s cheek, rubbing the smooth texture against his skin. “There’d be grain to it if it was wood. But you feel that? Baby smooth. Like silk. Only one thing gets like that in your hand.”

Nines tried to concentrate. His mind was going a mile a minute, struggling to make sense of what he was supposed to be feeling, if this should really be turning him on or not. “Plastic?”

Ryker leaned down, pressing his lips to Nines’s brow. “Nah, babe,” he huffed, flicking the knife around until the grip settled in his palm once more. “It’s bone. Carved it myself.”

That… made sense, didn’t it? Ryker was an outdoorsman, an enthusiast. A hunter too, no doubt. Making your own bullets couldn’t be that far off from making your own knives. Nines relaxed. “It’s beautiful,” he said, nuzzling the knuckles that came up to stroke his cheek. “What did you use to make it?” A deer, probably. Wait, no. Someone like Ryker wouldn’t hunt something as dull as deer. A bear then. He could envision that much better. Maybe it was even the one turned into a rug—

“My sire.”

Nines’s thoughts screeched to a halt. He glanced up at Ryker. The man was showing his teeth again, lips curled back in a smile that had never felt so malign before. “Excuse me?” Nines whispered. 

“I made it out of my sire,” Ryker repeated like it was nothing. He tapped the bone to Nines’s cheek, laughing when he recoiled. “Oh, don’t like that? You shouldn’t be so quick to judge; from what I hear, your sire was a piece of work too. Should’ve gutted him yourself. Nothin’ better than getting back at the one who made you this way, I say.”

That wasn’t— No. His sire was… awful. He’d ruined Nines’s life, destroying any chance he had at having what Connor enjoyed, but… “They killed him for me,” Nines said, unsure of why he felt the need to say something like that now. He licked at his lips. “I… never saw him again after he—”

“Fucked you and left you to die? Hmm. Sounds about right. Enforcers are always like that.” Ryker leveraged himself up with a hand, grunting a little when his dick grinded against Nines’s belly. God, he was still so hard. Wet still from his mouth, dripping just a bit at the tip. Nines’s mouth went dry, and he hated himself a little for being so easily distracted by that when there was a self-proclaimed bone-knife against his cheek, carved from the corpse of Ryker’s sire. “Fuck, fledge, flee. They’ve got it down to a science. Now, us Triarii, well, we aren’t so flighty. Roll over,” he ordered. “On your stomach.”

Nines didn’t want to do that. Not with that knife still out, and certainly not with Ryker’s words hanging in the air over his head like a sword hung by a thread. He locked up and stared at the vampire with wide, started eyes. The knife pressed against his cheek, tracing his jaw softly. He flinched when it dug in a little. Not hard enough to pierce his skin, but firmly enough to tell him Ryker wasn’t in the mood for hesitance. 

“Come on,” the man said, rising up on his knees to give Nines room to turn. “You said you didn’t want to disappoint me. We haven’t even started yet.”

It was odd how a dead, still heart could still tighten and clench painfully in one’s chest. Nines breathed in deep to dispel it, closing his eyes as he did as he was told. Ryker wanted him, he told himself. He’d wanted him from the moment he saw him, so there’d be no point in hurting him now. The sheets were soft against his skin, the friction beautiful against his cock. Nines settled in on his stomach and shivered when Ryker lowered himself to straddle his thighs. This wasn’t so bad. He’d be fine. 

_ Rip.  _

The cold press of the blade along his spine choked the trust from Nines’s chest. Ryker sliced the flannel shirt down the spine, pushing at the sleeves until they slipped off Nines’s wrists. He was naked now, naked and on display. Nowhere to hide, Nines whimpered. Just his flesh at the mercy of the man holding the knife behind his back. 

“There we go, that’s better. You know, you did ask me to tell you about myself. You can’t go freezing up and regretting it after the fact.” The knife drifted out of sight, reappearing in the form of a cold flick against Nines’s shoulder. He jolted a little, then stilled when it only brought with it the potential of cutting himself when Ryker didn’t pull away. “I get that it’s a thing you Enforcers do, running away from your problems, but sometimes you just gotta stick ‘em out.” He gave a short laugh. “Hell, or deal with them yourself. That’s what I did.” He tapped his knife down Nines’s spine, painting cold bites of contact with every bump, tracing out the shape of his vertebra one by one by one. 

“What do you mean?” Nines asked, his voice just a whisper. His skin was hot from the blood wine, his nerves alight from the danger. Why was he still hard? He couldn’t… This couldn’t be a turn on. He didn’t even know if he could trust this man…

“How old do you think I am?”

The question came out of nowhere. Nines thought on it, then shrugged. Ryker’s teeth were fully fledged. That meant he was over fifty, probably older given his appearance. “I don’t know,” he said, shifting a little, seeking out friction to ease the ache building in his core. “I was told you aren’t supposed to ask vampires that.”

A laugh. “Well, that’s fair. Age tends to mean respect. If you ask, you ruin the illusion.” The knife disappeared for a moment, replaced by Ryker’s bare hand. His thick, calloused fingers stroked down Nines’s spine, heavy and hard, a massage more than a caress. “Never did care much for that kind of deception. Age shouldn’t matter much, but what you’ve done in the time you’ve had. I’ve done a hell of a lot, to be honest. Came from the north almost a century ago. Got turned a century before that.”

Nines sucked in a breath that he knew Ryker felt him take. Two hundred wasn’t ancient by any stretch of the imagination, but it was still old. Older than most, older than a lot of the vampires who occupied high ranking positions and dictated what could and couldn’t be done. He tried to stay calm, to ignore the fact that he was being straddled by someone nearly as old as the country itself. “North?” he asked. It was less loaded. Easier. 

“Canada,” Ryker said, his hands moving once more. “The French side of things.” He snorted there, wrapping his hands around the small of Nines’s waist. “God, just look at you. Fits perfectly. Ladies used to have waists like this back then. They cheated for them, got them with those whale bone outfits. But you don’t need that kinda shit, do you? Nah, you’re perfect just like this.”

_ He’s just trying to distract you.  _ Somehow, Nines knew that, but it still worked anyway. Praise and flattery weren’t things he heard often. Most didn’t like how big he was, how bulky he was. Compared to Ryker, though, he was downright dainty. “Tell me more,” he breathed, melting into the sheets. They smelled good, he noticed. They smelled like Ryker.  

The hands squeezed. Ryker went on. “I was a trapper out there, hunting and skinning and selling the furs. I came and went, plied my trade, bought some land and had a cabin. I was good at what I did.” His hands moved higher, testing how high up he could go before Nines’s body grew too thick for his hands to span. They made it to his lower ribs before his fingers parted ways. “It was a good life. I enjoyed it. You don’t see land and sky and trees like that anymore. Not down here.”

Nines hummed. His eyes were drifting shut, soothed by the rich timbre of his voice, the strength and ease of his touch. It was a marked difference from the rush of before. This was a gentle seduction now, for his comfort. 

“It was a good life, like I said. I made a living. I enjoyed what I did. Winters were the worst, but I always found ways to get through them.” His hands paused, the tips of his fingers digging just a little into the meat of Nines’s thighs.”Winter was… Jesus, up there they were rough. Colder than hell, more vicious than a bear. It’s bearable if you’ve got a place to hole up. The cold wasn’t what killed you then, but the hunger. You’d prep all year to keep the larder full when it got cold. Animals did the same. No one wanted to be caught out in the cold when all the food is dead or sleeping.”

Ryker’s voice tightened. “I’d done my work. I’d prepped for myself. I knew how much I needed and what I would need to bring in every day to keep myself warm and fat ‘til spring.” Nines bit down on his lip when Ryker’s hands dug into his flesh, just a hair too hard to be anything but painful. It eased quickly, but the damage was done. Nines tensed up once more, on guard for what came next. 

“I was out one night, snow up to my hips, checking my snares. I’d heard a scream that woke me from my sleep and figured I’d bagged something. Some things still go out in the cold, you know. I couldn’t risk waiting for morning to grab it. Foxes, wolves, eagles— they’d strip a snare in a heartbeat if you give them the chance. Brought my knife and my gun, told myself I’d be ten minutes tops. It was cold out there, little prince. Colder than sin and dark like you wouldn’t know.” 

Nines flinched as something cold touched him. He scrambled to figure out  _ what,  _ but then felt that only one hand was touching him now. The knife was back. He laid very, very still. 

“The moon was bright enough for me to see. I trudged my way there, eyes watering, tears freezing in my beard. Just some rabbits, but it would be worth it, I told myself. Fresh meat was always worth it.” He paused there, pressing a kiss to Nines’s shoulder. He lingered, speaking the words against his skin, “Imagine my surprise when I looked through the trees and saw a figure already bent over my snares.” 

The tip of the knife teased a line down Nines’s hip, pricking him harder than he wanted to think about. Ryker dragged his mouth higher, letting his teeth add to the sensations the knife was only just beginning to make known. “Big, hulking thing. Y’know, at first I thought it was a bear. That’s how big it was. But then I saw hands, I saw a face. The fucker was stealing my rabbits, little prince. He was snapping their necks and acting like he was going to eat them then and there, raw and still twitching.”

Nines sucked in a breath. He had a feeling he knew how this story was going to end.

“So, I lifted my gun. I shouted at the fucker to drop my fucking dinner. And you know what he did?” he asked, bending low to breathe the words in Nines’s ear. Nines closed his eyes. He shook his head and mouthed the word no even though he did. He really, really did. 

The knife moved higher. It settled in the crook of Nines’s shoulder. Against his siremark. 

“The fucker looked up at me,” Ryker said, “and the next thing I know, I’m on my back, bleeding out into the snow.”

Nines whined softly as the knife traced his siremark. That area was always stupidly sensitive, blind to the fact that the stimulation was dangerous, that he shouldn’t like it as much as he did. Ryker’s chest scraped along his spine. His heavy cock rutted against his ass, too dry to be comfortable but with just enough friction to make them both crave more anyway. 

“Turns out that fucker? He was some lone Triarii, chased from the town he’d taken to after he was caught sucking dry half the womenfolk. In those days, there weren’t many women to go around. The land was too harsh, the men too rough. They were a rare thing then,” he said, rubbing the length of his dick between the globes of Nines’s ass. “This fucker got himself caught. Got himself  _ cast out,  _ and like I said before. There’s not much to eat come winter.”

“Ryker—”

“He was starving, I realized,” Ryker cut in, too wrapped up in the tale to let Nines speak. “He didn’t know how to hunt anything that wasn’t some shy, weak woman in her bed. He jumped me, drained me, and only when I was an inch from dead did he realize he’d just killed off the only source of blood for thirty miles around.” His mouth traveled lower, his tongue lapping at the sting his knife had left in Nines’s siremark. “He panicked,” Ryker said, fucking his hips forward, rutting against him like a dog. “He turned me. He thought he’d just made himself a food source to get him through winter.

“But guess what?” Sharp, fully fledged teeth nipped at Nines’s mark. “He  _ didn’t.”  _

Nines’s eyes rolled back into his head. His cock throbbed against the mattress. He tried to lift his hips but Ryker was a dead weight on top of him, keeping him prone on the bed as he humped him senseless. How was that fair? Nines whined pitifully, haggard and needy, but Ryker just kept talking, acting like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“He carried me back to my cabin. He slit my wrists as I turned, draining me of all I had while I lay there and stayed alive. He told me, ‘This is how it’s going to be now,’ as he shackled me to a wooden beam. I was to be his food. Vampire blood is better than animal. Better than no blood by far. I was young enough that it didn’t matter much, and he settled in for a winter he didn’t need to prepare for.”

Ryker lifted himself up then, pulling away from Nines’s chest. Nines immediately tried to move, but a big hand simply settled on his back, holding him down easily. “Don’t move,” Ryker growled, something shifting in the atmosphere. Nines tensed up, swallowing his disappointment when Ryker stopped fucking between his asscheeks. The knife settled under his throat, looped under by Ryker’s spare hand. Nines held very, very still. His cock twitched against the sheets. Pitiful. This was so pitiful, and he hated himself for how much more of it he wanted to feel. 

Ryker eased off of him. Nines heard the sound of the bedside drawer opening, but he didn’t dare turn his head to see what Ryker was doing. Shuffling, the drawer closing, and then the bed dipping as Ryker settled in on top of him again. Something fell into the bedding. The knife eased away from his throat, but Nines kept his head in place. He had a feeling he wasn’t allowed to take its removal as permission to move just yet. 

A thick, rough hand wrapped around his throat instead. Nines bit down on his lip. He stayed still. 

“You’re such a good bitch,” Ryker growled, squeezing just a little. He pulled, drawing Nines’s head back, tilting him so they could meet each other’s eyes. The pose hurt. Nines didn’t fight it. “So well behaved. You wouldn’t have fought much if someone had made you their blood doll, would you? Nah, you’d fit the role too well. Born for it.”

Nines tried to form words. Ryker’s hand constricted; it was suddenly too tight to draw breath anymore. 

“That fucker probably thought I’d be better about it. That I wouldn’t fight. Where could I go, he thought. I was just a fucking fledgling, half drained at all times and only let out to hunt for rabbits to keep me going. He didn’t even watch me when I wasn’t in the cabin. He knew I’d have to come back. Too cold out there, too dead. I’d never find shelter from the sun without him.”

The hand grew tighter. Nines sagged in Ryker’s hand. Breathing was just cosmetic, but it was still an urge he hadn’t grown out of yet. He coughed and choked, held in limbo between instinct and the common sense that told him he wouldn’t die from this.

“But he was an idiot. A fucking idiot,” Ryker spat, forcing Nines’s face into the sheets. “I knew my way around the woods. I knew how to set traps. I knew how that fucker thought, and I knew I was smarter. To be a hunter, you have to outthink your prey. I’d already outthought him the second he figured I wouldn’t put up a fight.”

Nines sucked in air as Ryker released his throat. He scrambled against the bedding with fingers that felt too clumsy by far. He barely heard Ryker speak over the sound of his gagging. Something about setting traps. Something about—

“It was so easy too,” the man said, dragging the knife down Nines’s back with a firmness that had him freezing up again. Ryker was getting rougher, getting meaner. Nines went pliant, hoping to keep him happy for a little while longer. “So fucking easy to lure that fucker out into the snow. He thought I’d made a run for it. That I had gotten so desperate that I abandoned all common sense to try my luck in the wild. He chased after me, following the tracks I laid hours before. He didn’t know how to tell if they were young or old. Fucker wasn’t a hunter. Not like me.”

The knife’s movements eased up. Ryker laughed. “I climbed a tree to watch the show. Moon was big and full above me. It gave me the perfect view to watch him stumble around the woods, calling my name, telling me I’d never make it without him.” He drew the knife along Nines’s back with careful ease, light and almost ticklish compared to before. “I didn’t have to watch, you know. I knew when I’d gotten him. Just had to listen for the scream.”

It was then that Nines realized Ryker wasn’t tracing random shapes against his skin with the knife. He was tracing the muscle groups, the clusters, digging the tip deep beneath them to prick and dent his flesh in paths that echoed the ones you’d take to butcher an animal. Nines gave an abortive moan, humping the bed weakly. He could barely make out Ryker’s words. They kept coming. They just kept on coming. The blade moved lower, and Ryker’s words kept coming. 

The tip traced the slope of Nines’s calf. “I got him right here,” Ryker whispered, pricking him just enough to hurt. “Bear trap. You ever see what those do to a leg? It shatters the bone. Shatters it into tiny little pieces, so even if you have the strength to open it, you can’t use it. It’s fucked. Ruined. You can’t  _ run.”  _

Nines sucked in air that didn’t sate. He trembled from head to foot, struggling to keep his hands where they were supposed to be. His cock was so hard. Painful and throbbing against the mattress beneath him. “P-Please,” he whimpered. It went unheard. 

“I watched him step on it. I wanted him to scream, and oh, boy, did he scream. Sounded like a dozen rabbits on their deathbed. You ever heard a rabbit scream, little prince? Ha. Bet you haven’t. Pretty hands like yours, you’ve never had to kill to survive.” The knife skimmed up his leg, his thigh, tracing out shapes on his ass and lower back. “It’s a horrible sound. Sounds like  _ fear.  _ That fucker feared me for the first time. Guess it was the last time too.”

_ Please, please, please.  _ Nines felt tears well up in his eyes. He was so hard. He couldn’t take this. A big, rough hand fell to his ass beside the knife, squeezing and spreading him to ghost a thick finger over his twitching entrance. Nines keened loudly. He tore through the bedding in his need to keep his hands above his head. 

Ryker kept laughing. “Nah, didn’t sound like that at all. It was a whole lot uglier, just a mess of fear and blood. I had a snare nearby and the dumb fucker stepped into that too. Wrapped around his bad leg and hoisted him into the air from a tree branch. Oh, you wouldn’t  _ believe _ the way that maggot screamed. I half thought the leg might rip off under the weight, but somehow he managed to hold on. Which was great for me, you know? Hardest part of gutting an animal is stringing it up to drain.” 

Ryker reached over and palmed something beneath the sheets that Nines couldn’t see from his angle. The sound of a cap opening followed, then the wet squelch of lube leaving a tube. “The weight is the worst. You’d think you’d want to aim for the biggest game you can find. More meat that way, right? But nah. Not if you’re on your own. There’s a limit to how much you can carry, lift, hell, even eat. This fucker, he was bigger than what I wanted to deal with by myself.” Ryker pressed a slick, thick finger inside him with no warning, no preamble. “But I didn’t let that stop me,” he said as Nines wheezed. 

Ryker’s fingers were big. Bigger than Nines’s, bigger than anyone else’s for that matter too. Nines shifted and wriggled, arching his hips and bearing down on it, drooling once more as Ryker fucked him casually, still talking like they were having a conversation. 

“I got down from my tree,” he said, adding another finger. Nines was crying now, so full and still so far from done that he couldn’t quite believe they were still only on prep. “I let the fucker see me. He screamed and shouted and begged, but I just walked back to the cabin for my drain basin. It was my blood, you see. I wasn’t going to waste it. Got my basin, got my skinning knife.” He crooked his fingers and Nines  _ howled.  _ “I walked back there and set it all out. That fucker never shut up. Kept screaming. Kept shouting. Kept  _ begging—”  _ he speared Nines’s prostate and it nearly had him coming then and there, “—and I just got my tools ready. I’d done this before.” 

Nines knew he should have thoughts about that, that he should be horrified or terrified or disgusted or… or… “God, please, please,” he begged, wishing he could move his hips and fuck himself on those fingers. Ryker was too strong though, his grip unbreakable. He spread his thighs wider and hung his head, Ryker’s words drifting and twisting inside his head like the haggard lines of poetry better left to linger in the air unheard. 

“I gutted him,” Ryker said, moving his fingers in time to every word. “I gutted him like the pig he was, drained him of the blood, let him  _ hang.”  _ He raked his nails down Nines’s spine, maybe breaking the skin, maybe not. “I drank it all in front of him. I’ve still never tasted anything as good as that.”

Nines could imagine it like he was there, standing in the snow. The scent of the blood, the sound of the screams. The meaty  _ rip  _ as Ryker dug his hands into that hanging carcass and tore it down the way one might a deer. A third finger entered him, splitting him too. It was so much, and he was so full. He spasmed weakly and drooled on the sheets beneath his head. 

“Once I drained him of anything he was worth, I cut him down. Fucker was still alive, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t do shit on that mangled leg of his, gutted like a fuckin’ fish. He kept begging me, kept pleading. He was  _ so  _ sorry,” Ryker snorted, the sound nearly lost beneath the lewd, squelching noise of his fingers thrusting in and out, faster and faster and harder and harder. “I bet he was then. I really do. But you know, I wasn’t. You reap what you sow. He made his choice; I made mine.”

All at once the fingers stopped. Nines let out a broken cry, the sound morphing into a grunt when Ryker grabbed him by the hips and rolled him over. Rolled. Ha. He manhandled him as if he were a ragdoll. Nines’s back met the bed. His thighs were seized, tossed over Ryker’s shoulders. There was no way to hide now, not like this. It gave him the perfect view to watch Ryker line himself up. “Oh, God,” he mouthed. Ryker was so big. Somehow it seemed bigger now than it had when he’d had it in his mouth. 

“His choice got him carved up like the animal he was,” Ryker said, teasing his entrance with the fat, blunt head of his cock. More lube trickled down his ass, slicking him in thin rivulets that shocked his system as much as it enticed. “I took my trophy from his sternum.” His hand roved over Nines’s chest, taking special care to squeeze and fondle his pecs as if they were tits. Ryker smirked, meeting his eyes. “It’s not like I could use the meat, so the bones had to do the job instead.”

Nines gripped the sheets above his head. He was utterly pinned, bent in two with the weight of Ryker bearing down on him like an unmovable wall of muscle and intent. Their faces were close together now, Ryker’s eyes locked on him, seeing everything, demanding even more. He whined softly when a kiss brushed his lips with a tenderness that didn’t match what he now knew of the man above him. 

“I’m going to fuck you, little prince,” Ryker said, kissing the words into Nines’s mouth. “Don’t you dare move your hands.”

If he wanted a reply, he didn’t wait for it. He didn’t give Nines a chance to even try; the blunt head of his cock pressed forward, slick and still not hot, breaching him without warning or delay. Nines threw back his head to cry out— and Ryker kept moving, kept thrusting, spearing him on a cock that felt so much bigger that it could ever possibly be. He tore at the sheets when he wanted to hold onto Ryker’s shoulders. He ripped them to pieces to resist the urge to move them. 

The pace was punishing right off the bat. Quick, harsh, Ryker’s position granting him all the leverage he needed to rut into Nines like an animal. His hips smacked the back of Nines’s ass, his balls following a second later. The room filled with the filthy sounds, overshadowed periodically by a groan, a whimper, a keen when Nines had the breath to make any noise at all. His spine ached as Ryker hitched him higher, bent him completely in two. His knees brushed his shoulders. The hair on Ryker’s chest stung his smooth skin with every forward thrust.

This wasn’t the first vampire Nines had let inside him. He’d thought his sire rough too back then, but he had nothing on the way Ryker fucked. There was no gradual increase in pace or force, no building crescendo to sweep him away. Nines burned everywhere Ryker’s skin met his own. His hole was stretched taut, his ass filled to bursting. There was no way a human would ever be able to withstand this. Was it a vampiric thing, to fuck this roughly? With the way Ryker was grunting, Nines had to think it was just him. 

“Good bitch, such a good fucking bitch,” Ryker kept saying, over and over again, his own moans as guttural as a beast. Nines blinked through the tears and gasped when he saw how Ryker’s eyes were turning red. “Wh-What…?” he tried to asked. Oh, God, was he going faster now? “Ryker!” Nines cried, tossing his head wildly as he skidded up the mattress, each thrust sending him closer to the headboard. “F-Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—!”

“Fucking take it,” Ryker practically snarled, his big hands wrapping around Nines’s waist to lift him higher, to give him a better angle to fuck Nines into oblivion. His eyes were fully red now, sclera bled through until only a pinprick of black remained for his pupil. His jaw was wide, his teeth bared. 

Nines shuddered and grabbed the groaning headboard. Was this a bloodrage? There was no breath to ask. Every thrust struck the breath from Nines’s lungs, leaving him gasping, pseudo-suffocating the longer Ryker fucked him. His moans petered off into choked gasps, into weak, forgettable sobs. Tears poured down his cheeks. 

He’d never been so turned on in his life. 

Where was the knife now? In all the chaos, Nines had lost sight of it. Ryker’s hands were on his hips, so that must mean the blade was lost among the sheets. Wasn’t that… dangerous? Nines writhed and arched, twisting as Ryker yanked on his hips to use him like a glorified fleshlight for all the ease he had in moving him however he wanted. Nines started to lower a hand to bat around, to feel for the blade and throw it away before it stabbed him somewhere soft— 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Ryker snarled, dropping his hips to grab for his wrists in an instant. He pinned them to the mattress, catching them in one hand to free up the other one to grab Nines around the throat. He leaned down, putting more weight and pressure on Nines’s bowed back. If he were a human still, he would have probably broken in half under the strain. 

“R-Ryker, I c-ca—n’t,” Nines cried. He tugged against the hand holding him down, but Ryker was unmovable. His hand was like granite, like steel. He hadn’t been touched yet but he knew it wouldn’t take much more to get him to come. Ryker was too big. He hit every spot inside him at once, no matter how he moved, how fast he thrust. “Please, please, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

“Don’t move your hands,” Ryker told him, letting go to wrap his palm around his cock. God, he was so big. His hand swallowed him entirely, just a firm hold that covered him from base to tip until nothing was visible but Ryker’s loose fist and the flushed, angry red of Nines’s tip when Ryker deigned to lift his thumb to circle the dripping head. Nines let out a silent scream, all air lost from his lungs in one fell swoop. His thighs tightened over Ryker’s shoulders. He lost the fight to hold on. 

Coming had never been like this. It’d never been so intense, so spine-breakingly brutal that Nines swore he blacked out. His eyes rolled up into his head, and if he moved his hands, he couldn’t tell. His spine arched like a bow and cum spurted up his chest in a thick, messy stream. Ryker blurred in front of his eyes. The man was still moving, still rocking, still fucking him as hard as he possibly could. Nines cried openly. The pleasure scared him. 

Ryker crowded him, chest to chest, pressing their foreheads together. “Good boy,” he growled. “There’s a good bitch.”

Nines gave up on the pretense of obeying. He wrapping his arms around Ryker’s shoulders, burying his face in his neck. Every thrust made his nerves scream. He was so raw, so worn out, and he licked at Ryker’s bulging jugular. He whined. Words were beyond him, but he still asked in the only way he could. 

Permission came in the form of a laugh, followed swiftly by one of Ryker's hands pressed to the tempting area. He crooked his fingers, digging in his nails, and... there. The scent of his blood filled the air, freely offered to him since they both knew Nines's teeth weren't sharp enough to take it for himself. The gesture hit Nines between the eyes. It was the sort of thing a sire would do for a fledgling, and even disillusioned as he was, there was no way Nines could ever think of refusing a gift like this. So, Nines took it, biting down as hard as he could to take back the blood Ryker took from him. 

It was… God, if he hadn’t already came, he would’ve the moment the blood flooded his mouth. He sucked in a sharp breath and swallowed it down, and Ryker, big, overwhelming Ryker, let out a choked snarl and ground his hips into Nines’s ass until he was buried as deeply as he could get. Warmth rolled down Nines’s throat, liquid and hot, and he groaned into Ryker’s throat when he felt more of the same fill him from within. Ryker fucked his release deeper. His body rocked and bucked, and Nines unlocked his jaw and fell to the bed, ruined by the taste, done in by the thought of Ryker’s seed buried inside him and his blood burning in the pit of his stomach.

_ I’ll have to walk home with it inside me,  _ he thought distantly, lost in the black behind his eyes.  _ I’ll smell like him no matter how deep I clean.  _

“So good, so fucking good,” Ryker kept crooning in his ear. His was going soft inside him, but still he moved, rolling his hips gently, chasing every last drop of his orgasm from Nines’s worn out body. “God, you’re so wet inside. Perfect. Perfect fucking bitch, just for me.”

Ryker lifted himself up and took Nines with him. He laughed roughly as he embraced him, and then grunted as he pulled out. A swell of heat and damp coursed down Nines’s thighs. He let go of Ryker’s shoulders and supported himself on shaky hands. He lowered his legs and winced as pain washed over him, the sort of pain he hadn’t experienced since before he turned and stopped having sex. 

So, this was what sex with a Triarii felt like. God. Just… God. 

Nines collapsed weakly on his side, chest heaving, body aching and thrumming with an energy he’d nearly forgotten. He’d never felt so used before. Just… utterly drained, body, blood, and soul. A tremor was building in his extremities. He sincerely prayed Ryker wasn’t the type to expect him to leave immediately after they were done. After a fucking like that, Nines would be lucky to crawl, let alone walk home. 

Ryker groaned as he followed him down to the mattress. He hit it hard, bouncing Nines a little. A heavy arm settled over Nines’s waist. With his head facing away from the man, there was no way to see what expression he wore. Not without turning. Not without wanting to look. Nines tried not to let it bother him that he didn’t  _ want  _ to do either. He was too tired to worry, and too exhausted to think about it. 

There was no clock in the room. The world outside the window was still dark, lit only by stars hung by mortal hands. The night wasn’t over yet, if any time had passed at all. It was quiet here after all. Time moved slower where silence crept like sap in the cold. 

“So, how’s it feel?” 

Nines glanced at Ryker. He swallowed, the silence suddenly more enticing than the weight pressing down on his chest. “How’s what feel?” he asked, because that’s what Ryker wanted, wasn’t it? To draw him out, to show him what there was still left to see. He fought the urge to hide his face in the sheets. It would only be a temporary reprieve; the sheets smelled too much like them both to let him hide for long. 

Ryker caught him by the chin as if sensing what he was thinking. He tilted his head upwards, making them meet eyes. Nines swallowed. Ryker was… handsome. He was strong, well connected. There wasn’t much that separated him from what Kamski was to Connor. Just prestige maybe, and importance. “How’s it feel to know the man you came here to have sex with? And I don’t mean in just the biblical sense,” Ryker clarified, his tone a joke, his grin making it mean. His rough thumb stroked the line of Nines’s cheekbone. Everything was a contradiction now. Nines’s mind spun like a dervish. 

He couldn’t hide, so he settled on closing his eyes. He wanted the blankets. He wanted to hide. “Why did you keep the knife?” he asked instead of answering. Though, it was still an answer, wasn’t it? They were playing a game now, had been from the moment he stepped foot in this place. The rules weren’t clear yet. 

Ryker slipped his hand lower, letting go of his chin to circle his throat instead. “Because that’s what hunters do,” he said, leaning in to press a whiskery, biting kiss to Nines’s lips. “You gut your game. You take your trophies.”

Nines gasped into the kiss. Ryker deepened it without another word, his bigger teeth so sharp, catching on Nines’s tongue, his lips, biting deep and tinging the kiss with blood enough to stir. Nines shuddered messily, bearing it only for a moment. He turned his head away. He let Ryker trail his kisses down his neck, his shoulder, lower still as he rolled onto his side, putting his back to a man he knew he shouldn’t trust with it. 

There was so much he’d come here for, and he still didn’t know if he could put a name to every reason he did or didn’t have. Some had been abandoned at the door. The rest were still on the fence, hovering on a razor’s edge of willful ignorance and foolhardy attraction. If he’d come here looking for someone like Kamski… He hadn’t found him. 

He just wasn’t sure what he had found was something he was capable of running from now that it’d already gotten his scent. 

The unmistakable press of Ryker’s cock against his ass had Nines stiffening. He held his breath. An arm wound its way around his waist, dragging him flush against a broad, hairy chest. There was nothing stopping him from slipping back inside, Nines realized. The way was already slick, already molded to his shape. He clenched weakly on nothing, aching and scared of how little he hated the idea of taking it all over again. 

“Hope you aren’t worn out already,” Ryker growled in his ear, a warning, a threat, a promise. His cock dragged upwards, catching on Nines’s swollen, aching rim. “There’s still plenty of time before dawn.”

Nines closed his eyes. Hope—and ugly, pathetic, misplaced hope—stuck like glue in his throat. “You want me to stay?”

That earned him a laugh, something mean and dark like the visions of ice and blood the man had conjured up so easily before. His hand traveled down Nines’s stomach, hooking under his thigh to lift it out of the way. “Nah, babe,” Ryker told him, lips to his ear, teeth to his throat a second later. “I want you to make me hunt you down.” 

A cold woods. Snow up to his waist. Nines was already running, pitching forward into the darkness as Ryker took him when he’d already given in. He couldn’t run like this, he realized. 

Nines just focused on breathing while he still could. 

**Author's Note:**

> whelp, there y'all go. i hope it was worth the wait! leave me some comments if you liked it and if you find yourself craving more of my particular brand of depravity, please check out my other written works and my original work under the name T.D. Cloud! I write fantasy romance/erotica lgbta+ fiction! they're good! go check them out! as always, until next time!


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